Loyalties
by Rex Madison
Summary: More than a decade after their deaths, Mature and Vice returned...at the side of the one that killed them. Nearly another decade's passed, and still no one knows why - least of all Iori, even though they've teamed up again since. But when the next KOF rolls around, and they come to him AGAIN...he decides he's had enough. (Rated PG-13.)


Notes

Well, here I am again, tackling another of KOF's dangling plot threads. This time it's for Iori, whose team is _finally_ stable but doesn't make any damn sense. The more I tried to explain it, though, the more I realized Iori's probably in a pretty rough place these days. He's stopped hunting Kyo for some reason, and KOF's barely around anymore. What else does he live for, really?

What I ended up with was...kind of a _different_ Team Yagami. They might seem OOC, even. I'm not defending my characterizations, or saying they _have_ to be right; I'm just explaining where they came from. Here's hoping they're okay to you, or that if not you'll read on anyway. :)

Happy reading!

* * *

Empty.

He felt empty.

He looked the part, too, at the moment. Right now he laid still as death on an old, soiled mattress, clad in a thin black tank top and wrinkled white jeans. His hair was matted, his claws jagged and torn; he hadn't shaved in a week. But the real problem was his vacant stare, or maybe the dead eyes behind it.

He was living in an abandoned warehouse, sleeping on the mat he'd "recovered" from the condemned building next door. One of the loading bay doors was broken, letting in the stifling heat; the place still had AC, but the electricity was spotty, and he'd learned not to rely on it. The water wasn't on at all, forcing him to drink (and eat) on the go and take his restroom business elsewhere.

Moving in had not been difficult. He barely had any belongings, anymore. Almost everything he owned laid against the wall in the corner, scattered as if thrown there. The dark boots and darker trenchcoat, in a heap on the floor; the two small duffel bags, holding four outfits total. The bass guitar he hadn't played in years, but would get rid of when hell froze over. Other than that he had his wallet, which was sitting on a rusty card table, and his phone, which was...somewhere. (And probably dead anyway.)

He didn't live this way out of necessity. Not really. He had money, had had it for a long time. He could have afforded an apartment, a car, all of it - but what did he need them for? Where would he go, and who or what would he bring back?

What he could _not_ afford was a home of his own. A place where he didn't have to deal with a landlord, or the neighbors, or anyone else. So he had taken this one...because _that_ , above all else, was a necessity.

For Iori Yagami had lost patience with people.

The idiots. The fools. The shuffling masses. The shoppers, the street vendors, the corporate drones. The tourists, gaping and gawking at him...and anything else they saw, as if any of it was interesting. The street punks, thinking they could make a name for themselves by taking him on...then leaving the alley with missing pieces, if they left at all.

Of course he'd never cared for any of those things. But he could at least _tolerate_ them, before. They were inescapable, a necessary evil for getting what he wanted...and for getting to _who_ he wanted, to the only thing he cared about.

Him.

...and yet here he was, lying in "bed" well into the afternoon. Doing nothing, while Kyo Kusanagi was still out there.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd tried to hunt Kyo down, to end his miserable life (and his own suffering). He only seemed to have that bloodlust at those damned tournaments these days...and he didn't know if it was worth dealing with them anymore. He knew his superiority now, didn't need to prove it to anyone. And even if someone new came along that _could_ take him on...why should he give a shit?

He didn't care for the little _side effect_ they came with lately, either.

Growling at nothing (maybe himself?), Iori sat up slowly, his hand to his head. _3 P.M...time to get up._ He didn't need to eat yet, so he decided to practice, desperate to at least keep himself in fighting shape. It was just a habit, really - but one of the few that hadn't died, yet.

Trying to decide if he should clear the room for an empty space or go annihilate some more old crates, Iori looked toward the room's table and chairs...

...and found a small white envelope, sitting next to his wallet.

 _Speak of the devil,_ he thought, with a disgusted groan.

How had they even found him this time!? It wasn't like he had a mailing address! Did that Antonov have people _spying_ on him, hidden in the shadows? Or was this one's host some sinister organization, one that had spies _everywhere_?

He knew he should ignore the thing. Burn it to a crisp, and the table it sat on for good measure. Yet like a moth to a flame, he stood and walked toward the envelope...picked it up, saw the too-familiar seal...tore it open, took out the slip of paper inside...and read its inevitable contents.

And then, just as inevitably, he heard a faint whirling and whooshing behind him, and felt the _far_ -too-familiar presence of his _side effect_ filling the room.

The lights flickered, too, coincidentally. (Or not.)

" _...you_ again," he snarled, not turning around.

"Yes, Yagami. Us again," said Mature.

"Ready to help you out as usual," said Vice.

"I do not _need_ your help," he told them. "I have _never_ needed your help, or anyone else's. Not for this."

"Aww, but don't you _want_ it?"

"The most strength possible?"

"Don't you want an even better chance..."

"...to get to Kusanagi?"

" _Why?_ " Iori growled, ignoring them. "Why are you still _tormenting_ me? Verse is dead. The Orochi-thieves are dead. Orochi is sealed again, stronger than ever. What possible use do I have left to you? _What do you want from me?_ "

The two of them laughed, almost in unison.

"That's for us to know..."

"...and you to find out."

Iori's eyes narrowed. "No," he said quietly. "It isn't."

In a flash, he was upon them. His hands shot forward, closed around their throats like a vice, and lifted them both into the air at once. It happened so fast they hadn't put up their guard, hadn't even realized they needed to. But they still stared at him calmly, even as his thumbs cut off their air and his claws dug into their necks.

"You are getting in my way," he warned, his voice like acid. "You will tell me what I want to know, or I will kill you. I don't care if you _are_ immortal; I will kill you _over and over again_ until you give me some answers. We will no longer work together unless you tell me _why_."

He dropped them and shoved them backwards roughly. They coughed a bit, took a few gasping breaths. After that, Mature's face returned to its former smile...but Vice's drew into a scowl.

"You'll find out when we're damn well ready." She snapped her hands outward, as if unsheathing weapons. "And if it's a fight you want -"

"We'll tell you."

Vice blinked. She turned back to her partner, her eyebrow raised. "...beg pardon?"

"We'll tell you," Mature said again to Iori. Then, to Vice, "We might as well. The worst he can do is walk away, and he's about to do that anyway." Back to Iori, "But I warn you...you may not like what you hear."

"You let _me_ decide that," said Yagami, crossing his arms.

The two took it as a cue to sit at the table, walking fluidly to the folding chairs at its sides. The former secretaries had gone traditional this time, wearing black blazers and pencil skirts over their white-or-red blouses. They looked primped but provocative, sophisticated but sexy; impressive feats for women who'd been dead for twenty years. Mature sat delicately to the left of the table, while Vice plopped down to its right.

"Have you considered, Yagami, that maybe it's not about Him anymore?" Mature began. "Have you considered that, maybe...it's about you?"

Now it was Iori's eyebrow that raised. "...what the _hell_ are you talking about?"

"Haven't you realized," Vice went on, "after all this - "

And then the rickety chair buckled beneath her, sending her tumbling to the floor.

"...nice place you've got here, Iori," she grumbled as she got to her feet.

Mature spared her a smirk. "Been indulging in canned plums again?"

"Quiet," Vice muttered, rolling her eyes. As if they still ate.

" _How_ ," Iori broke in, "is this about _me_? I have his power, but I'm no conduit. I can't bring him back. And I wouldn't if I could...not even if I could destroy him myself."

"You're not listening," said Mature, shaking her head. "This is about you. _You._ "

"We _like_ you, you moron," said Vice, rubbing her sore behind.

The redhead's eyebrow threatened to vanish into his hair.

"...so this is about sex, then?" he guessed, when they failed to elaborate. "Well I'm not interested. In you or anyone else."

But the two of them laughed again. "Look at the ego on you!" the brunette teased.

"We're spirits, Yagami," the blonde pointed out. "What do we want with sex?"

"We barely feel _pain_ , let alone lust."

"But we can like you without wanting you."

Iori frowned, crossed his arms again. "That makes even _less_ sense."

"Well then you haven't been paying attention," said Vice, leaning on the table with one hand. She looked at her partner and extended the other one. "Care to begin?"

Mature nodded. She crossed her legs, resting her chin in one palm and her elbow in the other. "We had lives, before we became _Hakkeshu_...but we don't remember them. We've got a few scattered memories, here and there. We remember what joy and sadness feel like; we know what our values were, and how quickly we abandoned them. But beyond that, we've spent our entire lives as servants...and it's rarely been pleasant."

"Leopold was the first," Vice continued. "The Heavenly King. The master of wind...and a complete asshole. He didn't _ask_ for things, he _expected_ them. If he didn't get them, we were _lucky_ if he hit us. Most of the time, he froze us out...acted like we were _unworthy_ of him, or even of Him. And who did we have to tell us different? We spent the first few years of our new lives terrified we were screwing them up."

"Then Bernstein made his play," said Mature, "and we had a new mission. Bernstein was...different. He seemed to care for us a little, and he tried to keep us happy when it suited him. But he was impatient, brash, and violent...and most of all, a slavedriver. Vice can tell you more about that."

"That _won't_ be necessary - "

"'Make Saisyu Kusanagi mine,'" Vice spat, in a sickly Rugal impression. "As if it would be so easy. As if I did it all the _time_. Days and days I spent with that old bastard, torturing and tormenting and 'persuading' him. I had to _pour_ my power into him to get _anything_ done - and that took a lot out of me back then. And every day, I had to report back to Rugal...endure a half-hour temper tantrum...and leave with something broken. Good thing we heal fast," she muttered, rubbing her once-sore jaw.

"I had more forgiving assignments, but I saw the same side of him. Crushing workloads, vicious tirades...and of course, we were _always_ on call. And yet we _preferred_ him to Goenitz, who clearly didn't care at all. He was the abusive boyfriend you stay with to keep out of the shelter system."

"And then Rugal went belly-up, and we _had_ to go back...but then we were sent out again, to find some punk called 'Iori'." (He seemed to startle awake at the sound of his name.) "At first, you acted worse than both of them. You _made_ us your servants without us giving you the idea. You were cold, distant, and always brooding about _some_ thing. Not to mention the constant death threats, which we believed for a while."

"But you never delivered," said Mature, and suddenly her voice seemed softer. "At the tournament, you were a monster...but with us, you were all talk. You never beat us, never yelled at us; if anything, we just got grumbling. It barely occurred to you to ask for things, and when it did you barely cared if we did them. And, for all you said you hated teamwork, you were a leader...always keeping an eye on us, making sure we were ready to fight."

"Three times, we fought ahead of you," said Vice. "Not because you made us; we _insisted_ , out of gratitude. Twice we failed, and you had to clean up after us...and you just 'tch'ed and rolled your eyes, and that was the last we heard of it. So we backed off - and then that Todoh slut got lucky, and knocked you out _just_ long enough for the win. When we bailed _you_ out, you were stunned. You were _amazed_. We still remember what you said:"

"'Looks like you're worth a damn after all,'" she and Mature said at once.

"Because _that_ is the best compliment we've ever gotten," Vice finished, shaking her head. "Is it any wonder we chose you over that son of a bitch?"

Silence fell over them, as Iori digested the story. Soon his guests looked off to the side, as close to embarrassment as they'd come since they were human. Finally, Iori turned away from them, walking back a few paces.

"Truly, a heart-wrenching tale of woe," he mocked (with maybe a _bit_ less sneer than usual). "But your nightmare lasted years. I've lived mine for _decades_. So if you expect me to feel _sorry_ for you - "

" _Please_ , save your pity."

"You wanted an explanation, we gave it to you."

"Simple as that."

Iori 'tch'ed and rolled his eyes...then realized what he'd done and scowled. "You do recall I killed you afterwards," he pointed out.

"Yeah, you weren't our favorite person that day."

"But that was Goenitz' fault, not yours."

"And besides, we came back, didn't we?"

"So maybe it was for the best."

"That's another thing," said Yagami, whirling around and stalking back to them. "All that explains is why you came back to _me_. But why... _how_ did you come back at _all_?"

The two looked at each other, then shrugged. "Honestly? We don't _know_ how," Vice admitted. "Probably never will."

"But the reason _why_ is to help you. And not just with the tournament."

"Because let's face it, Iori...you need help with a lot more than that."

A light growl rumbled through Iori's throat. "...what do _you_ know about it," he muttered, turning away again.

Mature stood at that point, as if she'd approach him - but stopped. "We can see you, Yagami," she said, with that slightly-warmer tone. "Not just here, but on the other plane, too. Time is different there, and we spend most of ours drifting...but we never let ourselves get away from you for too long."

"And we can tell _you're_ drifting, too," said Vice, walking up next to her partner. "You've fallen into depression, Iori. You're not angry and ruthless anymore - you're _bored_ , and going through the motions. You live in a _warehouse_ , for crying out loud. How sad is that?"

"I only live here to - "

"Get away from people," the brunette finished for him. "Yeah, we know."

"You don't want to deal with people because it's not worth it," the blonde went on. "But it's only not worth it because you've stopped caring. And you've stopped caring because you've lost sight of your mission."

"I _know_ my mission," Iori snapped. "Kusanagi must _die_."

"That's just it, Iori. That's not your mission anymore," Vice said quietly. "You haven't _really_ wanted to kill Kyo for years. You _can't_ kill him, or He might run wild again someday. In your eyes, the world needs Kyo..."

"And part of you...a _part_ of you," Mature said carefully, "...needs him, too."

Not carefully enough, as Iori let out a feral howl and threw a storm of fire their way. But they expected it this time and rolled aside, knowing Iori's tendency to "overreact" when it came to Kyo. They got to their feet nimbly, ready to fight...but he was standing still now, hunched over and breathing hard inside a pillar of flames.

" _I. Do. NOT. Want. Kusanagi,_ " Iori snarled. "I already _told_ you. I don't want _anyone!_ "

"Calm down, Yagami," Mature soothed, her hands held out in front of her. "You're getting the wrong idea again."

"She said _need_ , not _want_ , jackass," Vice "soothed", her hands on her hips. "For someone that doesn't care about sex, your mind sure jumps to it in a hurry."

"...only around you two," Iori muttered, as the flames died down. "And only because you act like whores."

"You _wound_ me, Iori," Vice moaned theatrically, holding the back of her hand to her forehead.

"Petty insults aside," Mature said, smirking, "you _do_ need Kusanagi. Not as a lover, but a rival...a benchmark...a test. You know deep down that you can't kill him, so you think there's nothing left. What you don't realize is that, _deeper_ down, you still need to _defeat_ him."

"Think about it, Iori. You've fought him a thousand times, now. He's won a couple times; you've been interrupted _lots_ of times. But the one time _you_ won, he was dead on his feet from fighting NESTS, and you both knew that's what saved you. That's why you didn't kill him then: it wouldn't get you what you _needed_."

Yagami's breathing calmed, as he considered their words. Slowly he stood up straight again, his scowl fading into a frown. This time Mature and Vice just stared at him, waiting for him to respond and daring him to deny it.

Finally, he looked back up at them. "If you're so sure of this," he asked quietly, "why tell me? Why not try to make me kill him, so Orochi could 'run wild'?"

"Well, that _was_ the plan," Mature admitted. "But it was never our main goal."

"If all we wanted was His life," her partner argued, "we would've let you kill _yourself_."

"But your life means more to us than His now," she told him gently.

Iori 'tch'ed again and turned away from them, like he always did to dismiss people. This time, though, that wasn't his goal at all. He didn't know what emotions, exactly, were playing over his face. He just knew he didn't want these two, or _anyone_ , to see them.

"...you could've told me earlier," he grumbled.

"At first we didn't think we'd need to."

"We were _sure_ you would pull out of it."

"After that we weren't sure how to help..."

"...until another KOF came calling."

Iori snorted. "'KOF'. Like that'll fix anything. Another pile of miserable bastards to cut through...and who says I'll even fight him?"

The secretaries laughed at him one more time.

"Oh, get serious, Yagami."

"You know he won't lose without you."

"And you won't lose without him either."

"Not if you're with _us_."

They stood back-to-back now, with crossed arms and evil smiles. When he turned to them, they were rewarded with that rarest of sights: Iori Yagami, smiling back.

* * *

Of course they made it to the finals.

"Well, here we are again, Yagami," Kyo yawned, looking as bored with it as usual. "Come to kill me one more time, eh?"

"You're in luck, Kusanagi," Iori sneered, his own look clean and stylish again. "I've decided you can live."

Kyo's eyes went wide. " _Whoa._ Now there's a surprise! What changed _your_ tune?" he asked.

Iori turned briefly toward the sidelines, glancing at his smirking teammates. Then he looked back at his enemy with a dangerous grin. "Oh, there's no change, here. You may not die...but you _will_ lose. Slowly and painfully, in front of all your precious fans."

Kyo barked a laugh. "Guess you've just gone crazy, then...especially if you think I care about these people." He fell into his fighting stance. "But you're even _crazier_ , Iori, if you think I'm gonna lose."

"That's just it, Kyo. I'm thinking clear, now," said Iori as he fell into his own. "And _that_ will be your doom."

The bell rang as they rushed each other, their fists reared back.


End file.
